“Are you griffons for real?” Gilda screamed so loud her voice cracked and griffons winced around her. Maybe the crescent chill of the night got to her throat, or more likely, she just screeched at them. Regardless, it helped her retain her sanity. “You stupid birdbrains literally just fled Griffonstone for survival! How can you be making up stupid, petty squabbles less than a week later?! Right now? In the middle of wilderness you know next to nothing about? How does that happen?”

Something had to be wrong with griffons. Gilda could understand dividing the sleeping quarters into genders, maybe even age. Unwillingness to share the damn tent for a night or two because griffons got injured, she couldn’t. Griffons got injured while defending the caravan against the rocs, and then rescuing one of theirs. Now, Gilda never thought herself a nice griffon, but the situation reached a level of pettiness beyond her ability to process.

“What?” Gelinda’s head kept turning from one side to the other, to the group of griffons and back to Gilda. If anything, Gelinda’s helpless expression helped Gilda bear the situation, so amusing her confusion was. “What’s wrong?”

Caravan master Gillian winced and scratched his head. “We never thought about it, and they split on their own into male and female camps… They may have a point, Lady Gilda.”

“We are not going to share our space with the males!” The one who could only be Garnet stomped a paw against the snow and raised her voice, taking advantage of what he said. “You guys should have anticipated this! You look like amateurs in the business!”

A young and pretty, tan with white griffoness, Garnet showed a distinctive red gradient towards the tips of her wings and the feathers on her crest. It fell on the sides of her head, dangling like she wore some sort of headdress contrasting with her white. Her red eyes carried so much petulance Gilda felt like ripping them out just staring at her. As if that was not enough, her tone and her way of speaking took Gilda back to Griffonstone. To when she met the Mayor’s wife before King Grover’s statue. Except elegant and easier on the eyes. Even one such as Gilda who didn’t really have a lot of knowledge saw a very pure Shaddani, or even an Astrani in Garnet.

Gilda really didn’t like her though.

“Listen…” Gilda reverted to a neutral tone, taking her time to sit on the snow and let her frustration wind down. “Who put you in charge?”

Garnet raised her beak and put a paw on her fluffy, immaculate chest. “I was democratically elected by the occupants of our communal tent. These wise hens have seen the competent leader in my…”

Shame she didn’t seem to understand Gilda owned her butt for the duration of the trip.

“‘Democratically’, my hind! This is my caravan.” Gilda made air quotes with her fingers. Apparently, winding down didn’t help. She groaned, trying to calm down once more, taking a deep breath, massaging her temples, and closing her eyes. Finally, Gilda turned to Geldar.

He was a few years older than Garnet. Short white feathers topped his head with a black tint mimicked in the spots covering his white fluff and dark-gray body. He looked dapper under the flickering light from the campfire and held a fitting countenance. The fiery light seemed appropriate, glinting off his angry eyes under the scowl knitted on his forehead while he glared past Gilda at Garnet. He even pointed a finger at the latter. “This is typical of her. She can’t stand not being the center of attention. Anything she can…”

Gilda growled, and backpaw slapped his paw away. He shut his beak before she glared at him and his crumbling appearance of more maturity. “What, were you ‘democratically elected’ too?”

He cleared his throat, pulling at his gullet and raising his beak as a canterlotian unicorn with a wounded ego. “No ma’am. I was chosen because the good griffons of the League of Lions-”

“The League of Lions?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He resumed his downward stare at her. “They believed me to be the better leader because I am older than most of them, and I am also experienced in-”

“Cheating on your wife, prevarication, corruption, nepotism and money laundering.” Garnet donned an unimpressed blank stare, counting the words with her fingers.

He promptly gasped and reeled back a step with wings fully on display. “Lies. Lies, I tell you! Lies!”

He dramatically put up his fist and raised his chin so high Gilda wondered if his back could snap. “The High Court never convicted me. All of this is hearsay! And I never cheated! Not on you, not on any of my previous wives! Most of all, I chose you for Treasury! If I was guilty of nepotism, it was by putting you in the office! I don’t remember you complaining of all the collars and expensive dresses, and all the dinners!”

She gasped and showed an exaggerated hurt frown, holding her paw to her chest.

Unreal. The word defined the situation and Gilda’s heart dropped as she looked to one and the other as their squabble went back and forth. How did accepting the caravan deal land herself in the middle of a quarreling couple. How? Why has fate decided to punish her so? Not only they annoyed the feathers out of her, but they actively disturbed the smooth functioning of her caravan. The plan never included such drama, the goal was getting her and Grunhilda to Griffindell!

“Shut up or I will have you both hanged!” Gilda yelled louder than both. Gelinda watched with curious amusement next to them and a small crowd of northerner griffons slowly formed around them, albeit from a safe distance. Gillian and the other southerners distancing themselves might have informed them regarding the situation. Or maybe they were just wary of Gilda and her stare coming close to set Garnet on fire. “Don’t tell me you named your group The League of Lionesses!”

“Well…” Garnet frowned, raising her beak with an indignant pout. “When you put it like this, it does sound silly.”

“It’s not silly, it’s downright stupid!” Gilda pulled at the feathers on top of her head and put on a fierce grimace. “Harpy above! We had griffons injured when the caravan was attacked. They defended you! One of them had to be rescued and he needs some comfort to heal. Another is my friend. And they’re in the cold because you don’t want to share space with the guys! Is this just because you don’t want to sleep with your ex? Just sleep on opposite sides of the damn tent!”

“Well, it is not my fault, but yours.” Garnet took a step back at Gilda’s rage but kept her defensive frown of indignation. “You are the ones who should have anticipated this problem and provided additional tents.”

“We assumed the southerners would share between males and females, Gilda.” Gelinda shrugged. “Males and females sleep in barracks and sleeping quarters in the north. The only separation is over rank. Nobody does anything unsavory, and everyone enjoys camaraderie. I don’t understand what the issue is. If anything, it even helps relationships form as griffons know each other better.”

Garnet gasped yet again. “Oh, my goodness! You can’t force the females to sleep with the males! It’s not safe! We have very young and innocent little chicks.”

Gilda could see some reason behind Garnet’s argument, but she couldn’t find the patience to parse it out and care about it. Garnet’s behavior felt too much like a threat, and her position an excuse.

“Dude, the innocent and little cubs, of both genders and varied ages are with the teenagers right now learning ‘how to north’.” Gilda insistently pointed a few angry times with a talon. “While you are here making up stupid shit. Does anyone in the ‘female tent’ agree with you?”

“Of course we do!” A small and big-eyed queen, younger than Garnet, stepped forward. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to be Garnet’s daughter, or any kind of relative. Gilda probably would have lost her cool. What little of it remained. Showing off her green and gray, flared wings, and soft melodic voice, she took a step forward to speak. “Miss Garnet took every step necessary to guarantee the safety or all the members of the League of Lionesses.”

“Actually, I don’t really care.” Another griffoness spoke, sitting a little back, but instead of taking a step forward, she simply remained seated on the snow and shrugged her orange shoulders. “I just voted because Garnet said she’d take care of us… And there really was no one else to vote for.”

Unbelievable. Gilda had found in her caravan the equivalent of griffons electing the damn worst possible griffons for the position of Chancellor. Except for the position of ‘Head Squabbler’ and to create problems in her already problematic life.

“Yeah.” Another, next to her, spoke and raised a paw with a smile. “Some of the guys are even kinda cute. I don’t mind either.”

“Girls!” Garnet cried and turned, whipping her tail around to speak with irritating and whiny elongated vowels. “We must remain united!”

Yeah… They had officially become a union now…

“Alright! Shut up!” Gilda glared at Geldar and then at Garnet with her most intimidating stare. “This is what is gonna happen: you’re all gonna share the tent, and everyone is gonna behave. No one is going to complain, and no one is going to do anything dumb. We’re all gonna work together. Madam Gelinda will take care of our injured, and as soon as we can, we’ll move again. Likely tomorrow. You can represent them, but you’re both gonna can the league bullshit, and I don’t want to hear of either of you creating trouble ever again!”

Since every word came out louder than the last, Mister Gillian cleared his throat into his fist and approached the quarreling females again. He made some appeasing gestures and spoke to Garnet, although remaining close to Gilda. “We prioritized the families because they need more privacy, and their cubs might disrupt the others. This is a temporary situation. There are no bad griffons in our group. I can guarantee your safety, Miss Garnet.”

“Well, I refuse to accept this!” Garnet flared her wings and fluffed up her chest at Gilda. If anything, the latter’s chest brimmed with pride at how she resisted the urge to throttle the other. At least, Garnet addressed her and not Gillian. She understood who’s boss. “It is outrageous. You cannot force me to sleep in a dangerous place.”

“Miss Garnet, you are not going to get a tent of your own.” Gelinda smirked at the griffoness and it just infuriated the other more. Gilda’s head snapped to Gelinda, back to Garnet, and then to Gelinda again. Either Gilda was dense, or Gelinda was incredibly perceptive, but if Gilda knew one thing, it was that Garnet would not be getting a tent all for herself as long she lived.

The smug chuckling from Geldar amused Gilda, though. Well, he wouldn’t be getting a tent either, if that’s what he imagined. Garnet’s shocked gasp and surprised hop distracted Gilda from him though. “I never! I swear my concerns are only to my fellow griffonesses. Why, I would never… How could you… I… I…”

“You’re done.” Gilda pushed her chest and reveled at her shocked expression at being touched. Gilda’s paw had snow stuck to it, and she didn’t even mean it, but she wouldn’t apologize either. “You’re gonna sleep in the damn tent with everyone else, or you’re gonna sleep outside.”

“We can hang a tarp, or something, to split the tent.” Geldar offered with a shrug, although his voice carried tones of contempt and smugness. Gilda almost unleashed on him too, just because she didn’t want him thinking he had won.

“There!” Gilda groaned. “You happy?”

“Absolutely not!” Garnet flapped her wings and slapped Gilda’s paw away. “You can’t just impose your will like that on us!”

“Actually, I can!” Gilda smiled broadly and stood on her hindlegs. She drew Mythical from her back and shoved the tip to the ground with a satisfying crunch at the snow and frozen earth beneath. “I have a pretty good opinion enhancer!”

Garnet’s eyes bulged and she took a step back. The others around her either grimaced or sighed. One or two decided things had become too thick for them and high-tailed it out of there. Good. Gilda’s point got across.

“No one is gonna start anything.” Gilda started counting on her fingers, resting her legs on the sword’s guard. “No staring, no touching, no joking, no kissing, no petting, no screwing, and no holding paws inside the tent. If anyone causes me to hear from this annoying hen ever again, I am going to nail you to a fucking cross!”

“Now, kindly, behave like adults, and get out of my sight!” Gilda screamed and thankfully both groups quickly dispersed or returned to their work of clearing the tent.

She let out a forceful huff and sat on the snow again, laying Mythical on her back, satisfied the problem griffons had cleared out. Maybe she overdid it, but at least she wouldn’t be feeling guilty if she needed to follow up on her promises later.

“Do you need some herbal tea?” Gia, who Gilda hadn’t even realized stood there, clacked her beak with all her annoying know-it-all attitude. “Also, historically, we never used crosses. It was the Battlehorns that either crucified or had their pegasus auxiliaries drop the condemned from the clouds.”

Yeah… Griffons only raped and tied others to burning stakes. Gilda’s glare properly made Gia regret talking to her and take a step back, all her smugness vanishing. “Why aren’t you working?”

“Well, that is solved.” Gillian coughed into his fist as the green loremaster rushed away. “I’ll be with the Quartermaster, unpacking medical supplies.”

He concluded with a polite bow and, as he walked away, Gelinda approached and smiled at Gilda. “Good job. Some griffons only respect strength. In the south, I fear it has become an irritating form of entitlement. Thank you, anyway. I will make sure the space is well-used.”

Gilda sighed. “You’re welcome, Madam Gelinda. Say, where are the two Gunner guys? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“They left with our rangers and will be back soon.” Gelinda pointed at the treeline beyond a thin strip of white snow in the dark beyond the light from the campfires. “They are procuring additional supplies, healing herbs, some stones and animal fat for salves.”

Gilda nodded her understanding at Madam Gelinda and the loremaster set out to work too. Just as soon as Gilda had solved the issue with the tents, things flowed again. Gelinda took control of the situation and griffons resumed getting their stuff out while others brought in supplies and furniture to turn the tent into a medical facility.

Gilda watched them work, but she frowned to herself. Garnet felt like she could be trouble and that Geldar dude too. In fact, Gilda knew politicians enough to imagine the two could very well have fabricated the situation and the idea made her lock her beak and frown. As she had done with Grahan, she should nip the problem at the bud. Beat them to the punch, although not do anything too drastic. Perhaps just show them, and the others, she was the top cat. Just in case someone hadn’t understood the conversation they just had.

The northerner griffons who had gathered to see the show had dispersed, and while she sat there, the volunteers brought the first injured griffons to the tent. Madam Gelinda, Gil and Gertha came with Guille while one of the hunters dragged him. They improvised a sled with a sheet of all-purpose leather and some ropes over the hunter’s shoulders. Others dragged the remaining injured with similar methods and most of the tent ended up occupied within minutes. Hurt griffons, supplies, a few magical heaters, and some tables took up most of the open space in the tent. The injured seemed a combination of hurt griffons with lesser injuries from the normal traveling, their defense against the rocs, and the rescue mission.

Some of the tables even held more supplies, often piled to leave the center open for working. One of the volunteers, a steely gray northerner caravanner griffoness, mashed small black leaves with a strong alcohol in a mortar and pestle. Both made of wood and treated with fire, giving them a blackened and shiny finish. She seemed to enjoy the work, humming to herself. Others opened supply packages or grabbed water into bowls from animal bladders stacked onto tables and sloshing with water.

Other griffons still hurried out, as more things needed to be delivered. Among them walked Gertha, who had somehow managed to get into the volunteer action without incurring Gelinda’s wrath again. Apparently, the loremaster didn’t care so much. Or maybe her reasoning included Gertha being Guille’s sister.

Gilda watched as she came out of the tent, and she understood what it was the old Loremaster had meant before when she disallowed the pair to help. She sighed at her own silliness, but she needed Gertha. “Hey, Gertha, I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, boss?” She grinned at Gilda, stopping next to her with big attentive eyes and a couple of black wool blankets folded on her back.

“Can I ask you to keep an eye on the communal tent? I mean, the other, where griffons will be sleeping.” Gilda gave her a tired frown. “I’m pretty sure either Garnet or Geldar will start something if they are not supervised. They may even be together in this.”

“Ah.” Gertha chuckled. “Sure thing! I’ll just help them get Guille settled in, then I’ll make my way there!”

Gilda thanked her as the pink griffoness took her bouncy self back inside the tent. Grunhilda sat closer to Gilda, as though to let her know she was there. It made Gilda happy, but she had decided she couldn’t just leave things on their own.

Just to be sure, Gilda entered the tent too and Grunhilda followed. As injured griffons arrived, the volunteers quickly placed them on comfortable little improvised beds of leather and fluffy pelts. Godwin’s sister, Georgia, ran one way and another with enviable energy, fetching ingredients and flasks smelling of alcohol one way or another. One of the huntresses sat by a pile of assorted supplies, pointing at them with a pencil and noting things down.

A true field hospital had materialized. The ones in worse condition received attention from Madam Gelinda and Gia. Namely, the blue griffon guy they rescued and Guille. The older griffoness ordered Gia and Georgia around like the chef in a kitchen and some volunteers helped keep things under control. Of course, Gilda wouldn’t forget Mister Gillian and the Sky Sentry quartermaster who had properly supplied the caravan.

A couple of minutes later everything had settled into place. Volunteer travelers (under supervision), hunters and huntresses busied themselves cleaning wounds and stitching them closed as Gelinda busied herself with Guille. She softly pawed at his neck with Gil watching closely. Gilda approached with Grunhilda following.

“He is fine.” She said without turning to them or stopping. “Structures seem to have healed properly and at most I can feel some liquid collections. His body should deal with it, but just in case, and since we need him to heal quickly, I will drain those. It may look ugly, but it is for his benefit. I will ask that he is given healthy rations of rich meat in the following days… I don’t think he will need a transfusion.”

There was nothing external Gilda could see pointing to what she said. Gelinda certainly had much more experience feeling for the anatomical structure underneath a griffon’s pelt. All Gilda could see was a small failure on his plumage where the undead swordmaiden had cut his throat. And some disarranged feathers where they had rinsed the blood off with water.

“Hey, you’re the one that knows stuff.” Gilda shrugged and Gil nodded a few times too many. “I just want Guille to get well.”

Georgia brought Gelinda a set of tools in a leather wrap and instead of sitting there and doing nothing useful, Gilda gave them space. Looking around the tent, she found the blue male they had set out to rescue.

Laying on a leather and furs bed out of the way, he also had an extra layer of wool on his bedding and covering him. Next to him a pair of boxes and wooly black fur made for an improvised raised bed. A big black griffon guy laid on top of it, on his belly, with his head up, despite his squinting eyes and about to doze off. He had a plate full of dark-brown roasted meat strips and a canteen between his forelegs. A tube filled with red stuck to his foreleg and to blue griffon’s.

Gilda was no specialist, but she raised an eyebrow at the setup. Something about the whole thing seemed ‘not right’. The blue griffon stirred and distracted her before she said anything. He opened his eyes tiredly and smiled at her, speaking with a weak, croaked voice. “Hi… Thank you, Lady Gilda. I’ll never forget you guys really came after me.”

“Hey…” She smiled at him and even stroked his forehead. Not nearly as big as even some of the southerner griffons could get, he seemed like some random griffon one might meet walking on the street at Griffonstone.

“He’s been thanking everyone since he woke up outside.” Gilda turned to the bored black griffon on top of the crate-bed. “He’s thanked me three times already.”

“His brain isn’t working very well right now.” Gia walked next to them, stood with a leg on the raised bed, pulled the black griffon’s eyelid and stared for a second. Next, she touched the blue griffon on his forehead with the back of her paw before she addressed Gilda again. “He’ll be alright. Some crushed bones and punctured organs, but the potion saved his life. His bones are mostly in place, but there was too much damage. He would need an excessive number of surgeries to fix everything. As a result, he may have some pains here and there, but he’ll live a mostly normal life.”

Gia shrugged. “Better than dying, if you ask me…”

Gilda frowned and hummed. “Not that I regret it, but will he stall us even further?”

Gia shook her head. “No. Not at all. Between Guille and this guy… His name’s Gobby, by the way, we should be able to move right before dawn, as planned. We’ll just stick them on top of a cart and give them a few blankets.”

“Great. Please, take care of him, Gia.” Gilda put a paw on her shoulder and Gia graced her with one of her rare smiles and friendly nods.

Turning from the young Loremaster, Gilda found Gertha sitting by the tent’s entrance, shuffling her feet like a scolded schoolcub. Gilda groaned and approached the pink mercenary with a less than amicable glare.

“Didn’t I ask you to keep an eye on Garnet?” She growled, and fortunately, Gertha had enough brains to understand Gilda wasn’t angry at her, but she still shuffled nervously and avoided Gilda’s eyes.

“Yeah… This is kinda silly… But Geldar said that if there’s gonna be a female watching the others in the tent, he wants a male too.” She concluded raising her paws helplessly. “He wants to make sure the females don’t do anything to incriminate them. Apparently, I’m included, since... Well…”

A quick stream of thoughts told Gilda it would be less of a hassle to just assign a male counterpart to Gertha on supervising duty. Less than to actually nail a pair of griffons to a cross, at least. Also, she just remembered the ponies used to do that and Gia was right when she mentioned so. Griffons were more about stoning and decapitations. Her finger stroked her chin and she smiled. Maybe she could find some griffons sufficiently annoyed at the pair. She could find plenty of stones along the trail.

“Uh, boss?” Gertha blinked twice at her as Gilda held her beak pensively.

Although procuring materials wouldn’t be too hard with the woods nearby, the noise and smells would likely draw unwanted attention. It would also be tasteless, considering she had died in a similar way once and the caravan was full of cubs and some nice griffons doing their best. Maybe she shouldn’t expose them to such things.

“You’re not actually considering…” Gertha winced.

“It’s probably better to just give in this time.” Gilda finally focused on Gertha again. “I’d send Guille with you, but he’s unavailable. And I rather not bother the Sky Sentries or the hunters. Gia is likely to throw a fit if I take Geary away from her and Godwin is busy with his little sister. Uh… Get one of the Gunner guys to help you when they return. They’re just helping the hunters grab herbs anyway and should be back soon.”

Gertha grinned awkwardly and coughed once. “Alrighty then! Later!”

She turned and walked away on the snow as one of the northerner huntresses approached from inside the tent. “I’m not sure I understand what is going on with that.”

Fierce, but confused blue eyes, and snowy plumage before her silvery-gray fur, the northerner queen seemed around her thirties as she sat on the leather ‘flooring’ of the tent. Her large framed and muscular body drew Gilda’s eyes, but she spoke again, settling her anxious wings on her sides. “Why are the southerners angry with each other? Did someone do anything? Can’t we just hang then and be done with the drama?”

“They didn’t do anything. They’re just worried someone is going to take advantage of one of the queens.” Gilda rolled her eyes. “I mean, I get it, but I think Madam Gelinda had it right. Garnet really just wanted a tent all for herself.”

“She is a troublemaker.” Gelinda approached them bringing a bloody cloth to be washed. She delivered it to a young tom among the others using basins, a fire and melted snow to wash things outside. “I recommend you ditch both as soon as we arrive on Frozenlake. If you take them to Brokenhorn, I can guarantee you Lord Griskjal will not have them on his domain. Lord Graham and Lady Geena will be more accommodating. If they behave.”

“You should have asked.” The big northerner huntress frowned. “I wouldn’t mind taking one of the southerner toms into my tent. There’s plenty of space and some of them are even passable. Maybe we’d end up with a few matings along the way to celebrate at Frozenlake.”

Gilda stared at her, who stared back so convinced of her words she didn’t even smile. All northerner griffon seriousness in her blue eyes. Gilda did chuckle, though. “I don’t think you understand the problem…”

To be fair, Gilda didn’t understand it either, but griffons will be griffons. She sighed and massaged her lores. “I swear, part of the problem is that those two ended up with supporters and they hate each other. It’s one of the reasons I never got myself married. Er… Mated.”

“This sort of disagreement tarnishes a family’s honor.” Gelinda continued. “It doesn’t help that most of the griffons here didn’t bring more relatives than their immediate families.”

The blue-eyed huntress nodded and squinted. “In the northerner lands, their relatives would have solved the problem for you. Failing that, it’s up to the town lord. Since you are what passes for the caravan’s leader…”

“Hurray…” Gilda groaned sarcastically and looked at Gelinda. “Anyway, let me know if you need anything. If it comes to that, I’ll scare griffons into submission for you.”

Gelinda chuckled at Gilda’s joke and the latter turned to the huntress northerner. “I don’t like the idea of northerner griffonesses inviting southerner males into your tents. The chances of things going wrong are just too many. I’m tired. I don’t want to deal with you complaining because they crossed boundaries.”

“What do you mean, Lady Gilda?” Despite her fierce visage and her strong physique, her confused expression was too damn cute.

Both looked at Gelinda when she explained calmly. “Gilda is concerned a southerner tom would assume an attractive northerner queen would have sensual intentions when inviting one of them to their tent.”

“Well…” The northerner queen, with her impressive size, tout muscles and fierce predatorial mien joined her fingers together like a cub asking mom for the cookie. “I wouldn’t mind… Sleeping alone in a tent, far from the community, is disheartening. I wouldn’t mind a cute southerner griffon to hug… Or… You know…”

Gilda blinked twice as she processed the huntress’ words. Her mind blew and Gelinda looked at her, waiting for Gilda’s decision.

She would think a northerner huntress from a city like Wayfarer’s Rest, which practically survived on hunting, would think a southerner griffon incredibly lame. Like, griffons who didn’t know how to survive in the north and basically depended on the northerners to make their way to their new homes. They would arrive on said homes and would again depend on northerner griffons, to teach them how to make a living.

What the heck? Did she miss something? How come the tough northerner queens didn’t want a tough tom to mate with? Gilda scratched her head, still staring at the griffoness, still waiting like she needed Gilda’s permission.

“Uh… Why?” Gilda gave her a confused frown. “Don’t you have badass northerner griffons around to get yourself involved with? Griffons you don’t have to teach everything and who can take care of their own? Who grew up understanding the northerner culture and wouldn’t need you to teach them everything?”

“Well, the southerners are griffons. Good griffons. They are willing to learn, they are just new around here and there’s nothing wrong with them. If the southerner queens don’t want them, I suppose they’re fair game.” The northerner queen shrugged and showed her paws, then she gave Gilda a hopeful grin and put forward her paws. “Hum… They think I am exotic simply by being born here. Right?”

Gilda’s mind exploded again. They thought the southerner toms easier catches than the northerner singles. And it totally made sense because, for one, they were singles too while everyone in their northerner communities were likely taken as they grew up together. Not to mention the southerner griffons needed help, they likely knew so, and the northerner queens were willing to invest in them.

It made Gilda think of Gil and Guille and the opportunistic nature of griffon relations. About Grunhilda and herself and how feelings grew from a necessity, from loneliness.

Best of all, it would likely piss off Garnet and Geldar.

Gilda opened a wide grin and threw her paws. “I get it. Do the others feel like you? I mean, if you gals want to bonk a southerner tom in the head and drag them to your tent, I’m cool with that.”

The other opened a similar, though much more excited grin and ruffled her feathers. She even let her wings open a little in the cramped space. “We can do that?!”

“She’s joking…” Gelinda deadpanned, and the huntress deflated a little. “Please don’t give the southerners the impression we are savages, but the single toms are fair game. After you are done with work here, of course.”

The northerner queen nodded respectfully at Gelinda and smiled at Gilda with a bow. Then she grabbed the mortar and pestle, resuming the circular movement with renewed gusto. Apparently, some griffons would be very happy in the morning, and both Geldar and Garnet would be powerless and properly infuriated.

Turning to Gelinda, she put up a grin. “I’ll see if I can’t find anything to eat and make sure nobody is coming up with more stupid nonsense.”

Because stupid nonsense seemed to be a theme with griffons anyway and Gilda had had enough of it in her caravan. Grunhilda followed her in silence and the increasing rustling from the trees insinuated it would be a good idea to just be done with the day already. The nightly air brought a chill and the snow seemed colder under her feet.

A quick round took her along the ‘somewhat in formation’ tents making up their stretched thin camp and things seemed under control. She found the inane shared tent she didn’t want to think about with Gertha yelling at Garnet and pointing inside the tent. A campfire nearby had males and females with annoyed expressions working on preparing some dishes for serving. Everything seemed under control.

She came upon her roc rescue, several paces from the main camp. Several stakes with torches and a sizable campfire where the northerners merrily prepared food provided a comfortable night light despite the wind. Not all their hunters, though. A group had decided to settle next to the roc and erected tents around the campfire.

She walked to the roc infant, still fast asleep, but inside a cage. The hunters had built it quickly, but it seemed sturdy to Gilda’s eyes and trying one of its bars confirmed it. The roc’s back raised and lowered rhythmically, calmly dragging in air, and putting out steam into the cold night. He even had a couple of wool blankets to keep it warm in the absence of its parents, on its sides and over him. He looked almost comfortable! The northerners sure seemed to have taken a liking to the little guy for a bunch of hardened hunters and trappers.

She turned back to the cage. A board of half-logs tied together, and caked mud provided sturdy floor and foundation. They tied the logs with ropes and long green branches using wood beams for support and mud they dried with fire, judging by the burnt pieces of moss. Six wooden rails added underneath, molded, and cut into improvised blades would allow them to drag the cage around with the caravan. They would certainly need replacing, but someone surely thought of that too. Cool.

Then they used branches of increasing thickness to tie sturdy lengths of wood into a triangular cage. Barely more than twice the roc’s width, three times his length and about once and a half as tall when standing. She tested the cage again and gave a satisfied grin at how sturdy and plain adequate it seemed.

“Won’t he be cold out here?” Grunhilda whined.

“We’re doing the best we can.” Gilda shrugged. “It’s not like we can take him inside our tent and a magical heater would probably be wasted in this case.”

Yes, the night brought a harsher cold. It likely would be colder still as the night dragged on, but they were already doing what they could. Besides, the little guy already lived in the cold, and no matter what, with the circumstances of his rescue, he had lived through worse.

One of the rangers approached them. A mid-aged blue and white tom with gray eyes accompanying the excitable huntress who talked to Gilda when they arrived. Both wore wolfskin capes, gray for him and black for her. He gave Gilda a respectful bow. “We’ll keep an eye on him through the night, Lady Gilda. We have watches nearby too.”

“Madam Gelinda said he should sleep through.” The female chirped with a hop on her forelegs. “We’ll even have some game meat ready to feed him when he wakes up!”

The male nodded as she spoke and concluded with a friendly smile. “We’ll call you if anything happens you should know.”

Great. She smiled radiantly at the pair. “Thanks a lot. I really mean it.”

They both bowed almost simultaneously at her and, in the typical northerner way, didn’t waste any more time with pleasantries, getting on their way back to their comrades. Sitting on the snow, Gilda watched them walk for a while before he turned to the sleeping roc. She smiled and reached with her paw between the stakes. Slowly landed her paw on top of the giant infant bird’s head and patted it. The sand-colored plumage gave to her paw, a bit cold, but the little roc chirped softly in its sleep.

“He’s gonna need a name.” Gilda cocked an eyebrow, staring pensively at the creature’s feathers.

“Rocky?” Grunhilda shrugged.

“No. I mean a good name.” Gilda chuckled and her friend giggled, happily tapping her forefeet on the snow.

The wind pulled at Gilda’s feathers and even through her (new, sweet, and totally awesome) cape of white feathers she could feel the chill it brought. She turned to Grunhilda. “Come on. We better rest too… Tomorrow we should get back on the road. And we gotta eat something too.”

“Okay.” Grunhilda nodded with a smile and her usual submissive tone to follow Gilda as she stood and walked back to the main body of tents and griffons.

The others had begun retreating into their tents as the winds picked up even more speed and snow started to fall. Maybe she should ensure everyone was safe. Gertha would call her if something went awry and she could see sentries and patrols along the camp, like the first night. Maybe she could rest, and griffons would take care of themselves. Maybe it was the drama of the day, but she had to remember she was surrounded by adult griffons.

Immediately after, she remembered they had a tent filled with cubs and teenagers (although they had behaved more maturely than the adults…) and started on her way before she even realized. With hurried steps, no less. Better safe than sorry, after all, and Grunhilda dutifully followed her without so much as a peep.

A short gallop took her there in time to see the older ‘kids’ leaving with their parents, scrambling to their families’ tents. Creaking branches, howling wind and snow which insistently clung to surfaces and griffon clothes our plumages promised a blizzard. Some of the older griffons once guarding the kiddie tent worked to secure it with tenser ropes and heavier sheets. One of the teenagers, a faint pink and white colored cute thing, rushed their camping stuff inside the tent and tied the flaps tightly. Then she winced at the wind and hopped closer to Gilda.

Gilda didn’t know her, but certainly she was one of the older northerner ‘kids’ helping organize and teach the younger griffons. She rattled a little with the cold, having no accessories or anything other than her pearly fur and rose feathers, but stopped in front of Gilda.

“Everything is under control, Lady Gilda.” She said, hugging herself with her wings. The two Sky Sentries approached too, in their combined armor and furs, and straightened like Gilda was their commander. One nodded at the young queen’s words and the other got slapped in the face by a rogue branch in the wind, but other than spitting a leaf was unharmed. The shivering female continued. “We had planned for a sleepover, but we sent the little ones to their families. This one look like it’s going to be rough.”

Could it be the Windigos’ doing? Gilda let her beak hang as she looked up to the sky. The clouds convulsed violently in the dark, and fast snow crossed in front of her. A frown accompanied the tingling sensation of flowing magic at the tips of her primary feathers. The three griffons and Grunhilda didn’t bother her, but the latter kept her eyes on Gilda with a bit more of a curious intensity.

Gilda closed her eyes and assessed her own feelings. The wind crashed into her, cold. It made her feathers flay wildly. It smelled of snow and the snow itself felt as fresh as never back at Griffonstone. The clean air made for clean snow, and cold as it was, it was beautiful, even if dangerous. If there was any foul magic in the blizzard, it eluded her. The cold bit past her cloak, but it only stole the warmth away, no malicious intent seemed behind it. Only Her Mother’s magic clouding the sky and carried by the storm.

She inhaled and adjusted her wings under her cape. “It’ll be fine. Make sure our sentries are well protected from the cold and if anything is out of the ordinary, follow Gosalynn’s orders, but I want to be involved.”

Both Sky Sentries nodded their understanding and she turned to the young queen. “And you go to your family. I don’t want griffons getting themselves lost in this blizzard.”

Just as the queen nodded she had understood Gilda’s orders, Godwin came out of nowhere, panting and skipping on the snow to stop next to them. “Lady Gilda! Georgia hasn’t come back to our tent!”

His little blue sister, Giza, clung to his feathers behind his back and shivered, staring at Gilda with huge eyes. The tom winced at the fiery stare he got from Gilda though. “Godwin, what’s wrong with you? Giza is freezing! What are you doing with her outside?! In this weather!”

“I... I… Ah… I don’t know where Georgia is! But I didn’t want to leave Giza alone in our tent!” His feet tapped the snow nervously like a big nervous child and the griffoness his age took the little baby and put it against his chest, candidly placing his wing to hold and shield her.

“She’s probably with Madam Gelinda and the injured griffons.” Gilda told him over the wind as the other queen made sure he would hold Giza.

One of the Sky Sentries spoke too. “She’s probably going to keep her there until the blizzard passes. It’s not safe to be out in these winds and this cold. It’s even going to keep the caravan from moving if it goes on for too long.”

Well, not much Gilda could do about the weather there. She could take care of her charges, however.

“Do you want to sleep with me and Grunhilda tonight?” Gilda offered.

“Lady Gilda…” He glared at her like Gilda had just called him something. “I’m not five anymore.”

“Ironically, an adult would have said ‘yes’, tom.” One of the Sky Sentries smirked while the other very poorly contained his chuckling.

Gilda herself barely contained her snickering, staring at the tom’s expression of a lost kitten. But Giza was still freezing, holding on to her big brother and Gilda turned to the Sky Sentries, keeping a humorous tone. “Don’t you two have some dark patch of snow to patrol or something?”

They snorted, walking away after a respectful bow and the pearly-rose queen sat, putting a paw on her fluffy chest, but her cheeks tinted like tomatoes. “I could spend the night with Godwin if you want, Lady Gilda. To make sure he and little Giza are comfortable.”

“Sure.” Gilda grinned, excited and happy. “I’m sure there is absolutely no chance of either of you doing anything that would break tradition or have big consequences later. Like, after seven months or so.”

“Really?” The young and cute griffoness grinned, but after a second her crest of front-swept pearlescent white feathers flattened despite the wind. “Oh…”

“Go to your family.” Gilda pointed with a wing at the lit tents in the windy fog, not making fun of her, not angry, but serious. “Before they get worried you’re alone outside. Godwin is not going away, and you can meet with him tomorrow. I’m sure there’s plenty of fun stuff for you to do together before the Gathering Storm when we get to Frozenlake.”

Harpy above… She sounded like her mother whenever Godwin was around.

“Yes, ma’am.” The pearly queen sighed and waved him goodbye. “Bye, Godwin.”

Once she hopped away, Gilda turned to Godwin. “Know what? You two are going to sleep with me and Grunhilda tonight. Emphasis on sleeping.”

She pointed the way with a talon, and he walked with them. Grunhilda was more curious about little Giza who seemed to have relaxed with his chest’s warmth and Gilda walked next to him, on the other side. “What is it with you and these horny hens?”

“It’s not like I’m doing anything!” He promptly defended himself. “I don’t even know what the drama is…”

She bopped him on the head with a wing. “Didn’t you hear, you dummy? Your mom isn’t around and if I let you stick your wiener inside one of these airheads, we’re gonna get a cub neither of you numbskulls are ready to take care of. That is the point of the Gathering Storm. A controlled environment to make sure you horny kids know what you’re doing. You’re not a random griffon with pieces of different lines here and there. You have to protect your bloodline.”

Or something. Bloodlines were important to them. Thanks to that she could use magic. As long as the nobles didn’t harass the Saddani, like Gia did to the poor huntsgriffon in Wayfarer’s Rest, she was cool with it.

Actually, the most important thing was that Gilda could lord over them, but she left that out of the conversation too.

He didn’t like what he heard, but he didn’t have an argument against it either, so he shut his beak and followed Gilda and Grunhilda against the wind and the irritating snow. It grew thicker by the minute. Fortunately, the blizzard hadn’t become quite so strong yet to make navigation difficult. They could clearly see the light from oil lamps inside the tents and with the sentries by the groups of tents. It also didn’t seem strong enough to rip the tents from their mooring under the snow.

A short and uneventful walk took the three to the cluster of shelters Gilda had come to know as ‘The Leadership’. The remains of a campfire, replaced by a couple of oil lamps and a magical heater stood in the middle of the tents and there, under blankets and capes sat one of the Gunner dudes and one of Gosalynn’s Sky Sentries.

Oh. That’s right. She had told Gertha to recruit one of the ex-soldiers to help her keep watch over the ‘annoying tent’. For fuck’s sake… Gilda only hoped one pair of combatants wouldn’t make a difference if the storm happened to hide something more sinister than cold and snow.

The pair of griffons greeted her, Gunner being the warmest, but Gilda knew the Sky Sentry didn’t mean ill with his reservedness. He even raised a bowl for her to see, covered with something made of meshed fibers like a cover. It seemed to do a decent job of protecting the food in the metallic bowl.

“It’s probably gone cold, but we saved your portions and there should be enough for the kids too.” He gave her a warm smile from under all his protection against the cold and Gilda grinned heartly at the weight it exerted on her paw. “The cubs made it! The northerner kids have been teaching the southerners how to hunt and how to prepare food here in the north.”

The cold didn’t damper his enthusiasm in the least and even made Gilda excited to try the food.

“It’s a little cold, but the trick is to use the magical heater.” The Sky Sentry added with his more reserved tone. “It’s mostly waterfowl cuts roasted with seasoning oils and herbs. It’s very simple and very easy to make, but it is very popular and it’s often one of the first dishes cubs learn. Both noble and commoner.”

“Thanks a lot, guys.” Gilda gave Grunhilda the plate to carry it inside and nodded at her to take Godwin and his baby sister inside before she held her cape of white feathers closed. “Do you guys think there’s any chance anyone is gonna attack us in the middle of this?”

“I wouldn’t worry about brigands or anything of the sort, ma’am.” Gunner shouted, barely visible or audible under the blizzard and all his protection. “But it’s not griffons or ponies that worry me after the stories about the Astrani mine.”

Gilda didn’t have to see the Sky Sentry nod nor hear him agreeing to understand Gunner’s point. She just didn’t know what she should be afraid of. But he fixed that in a hurry. “There are all sorts of nasty creatures which come out in this weather, Lady Gilda. Frostmites will steal your warmth in your sleep, wicked undead spirits turned into vampires after your body heat. The magical heaters might attract those. Frostwings… Ah… Fortunately not draugar or frostmanes though, as they usually stay near ruins and battlefields. Probably no dragons or most beasts. Could be snowolves, however. They like to hunt in this environment. Frostmites are most dangerous, though.”

Great… Her mind promptly pictured a giant frozen mite stuck to her neck while she slept. Just great. She knew mites didn’t work like that, but she couldn’t help imagining a bloated giant insect that did bite, just because.

Fucking Windigos.

“Most monsters…” The northerner explained further because of the half-panicked, half-disheartened expression Gilda put forward. “Bring their masters’ twisted magic with the storm. It usually makes adults anxious, and cubs become restless. Doesn’t seem to be the case. But we need to keep watch, because you never know what could be lurking outside the campfire’s light.”

“So, yeah…” Gunner concluded. “Here we are, and you can rest, ma’am.”

She smiled at them. “Thanks, guys. Don’t hesitate to call if anything feels weird.”

Finally, Gilda turned to her tent and entered. Grunhilda quickly tied the flaps closed for her. They had a cramped night ahead of them, and nothing would happen between her and Grunhilda. But at least she could make sure Godwin wouldn’t be doing anything stupid. She didn’t know why she even cared, but Grunhilda had figured to put their food over the magical heater and the thing smelled marvelous. Worries washed away and her stomach grumbled.

Next Chapter: The Harpy Made me Do it, pt I Estimated time remaining: 11 Hours, 22 Minutes